


tie your heart at night to mine (while the dark earth spins)

by kotaface (aveyune23)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Advent Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface
Summary: She wakes to the scent of mako fumes and ash.(An old nightmare, a new habit, and each other to drive out the darkness.)
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 17
Kudos: 126





	tie your heart at night to mine (while the dark earth spins)

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been sitting completely forgotten in my Google Drive for a while. It was named "Domestic Fluff Coping Mechanism." Obviously I had to spruce up the title a little bit, but the sentiment remains. 
> 
> Special thanks to [spaceOdementia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceOdementia/pseuds/spaceOdementia) for agreeing to an incredibly out-of-the-blue beta request. 
> 
> I hope this makes everyone feels as snuggly and content as I felt when writing. Please enjoy.

_ "Tie your heart at night to mine, love, / and both will defeat the darkness... / ... tie me to a purer movement / to the grip on life that beats in your breast... / ... so that our dream might reply / to the sky's questioning stars / with one key, one door closed to shadow." _ \-- Pablo Neruda, _"_ Tie your heart at night to mine, love"

_"I have slept with you / all night long while / the dark earth spins / with the living and the dead, / and on waking suddenly / in the midst of the shadow / my arm encircled your waist. / Neither night nor sleep / could separate us." --_ Pablo Neruda, "Night on the Island"

* * *

She wakes to the scent of mako fumes and ash. 

Her fists are raised and she’s half out of bed before she realizes she was dreaming. She wipes a hand over her face and lets out a deep breath. 

The mattress shifts, and she turns her head to see blue-green eyes squinting at her from beneath furrowed brows. He’s not really awake, she knows, but the fact that he’s still so attuned to every little thing about her after all this time never ceases to amaze her. She sighs and gives him a reassuring smile, lets him guide her back into the warm nest of sheets where he can pull her close and hold her snug against him. They fit together like well-worn puzzle pieces, every shift and settle instinct now. He always brushes her hair to the side before sighing against her neck, a low hum that she feels more than hears as he tucks his hand beneath her breasts. She’d confessed once, a long time ago, that the only time she truly felt safe was when he was holding her like this.

It took a few starts and stops, but he’s held her this way every night since.

She rests her hand on his and focuses on her breath. A brush of her thumb against his wrist finds his pulse, and it becomes her anchor.  _ Just a dream _ , she tells herself with each inhale.  _ Won’t be the last,  _ exhale. She times them to match each one of his that warms her skin. Slowly, she eases back towards sleep.

A wall of fire blazes across her vision. Her chest clenches and she jolts, choking on a shout. 

The way he catches her is automatic, but he’s awake now, murmuring that she’s okay as he gathers her to his chest. She’s shaking and her lungs burn and his arms are wrapped so tight around her that it almost hurts, but she doesn’t cry. No sound comes out of her mouth. It was gone as soon as it appeared. For all it’s wrecking her now, this fear is old and dusty and like a coughing fit she knows it will pass. 

That never makes the pain any easier.

He’s holding her through all of it, one hand running down her back while the other cradles her head beneath his chin, as she tries to clear her mind of the dream. His heart is steady beneath her palm, his chest rising and falling evenly, and he presses her closer like he’s trying to convince her own body to do the same. And he’s gentle, so gentle, and it’s that that always brings her back to solid ground, to their bedroom, to now. 

He doesn't let go, even after the shaking has stopped, and she's grateful for it. She curls into his side with her head on his shoulder. His hand spreads across the curve of her hip. Their lungs slowly synchronize. She draws tiny patterns on his chest with the pad of one finger, eyes unfocused, while her mind drifts in the haze that always comes after waking from a nightmare. She thinks he might have gone back to sleep, which is good, he’s supposed to be leaving for a long-haul delivery in the morning, and a thread of guilt creeps in. He needs sleep, she shouldn’t have woken him --

“Stop.”

His voice is a quiet rumble beneath her ear that makes her start. She lifts her head and looks up at him. His eyes are closed and his features relaxed. He looks like a statue of a warrior at rest, marble skin and smooth angles, but she’s known him too long to miss the tension in his brow. Just like he’s known her too long to believe that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

It doesn’t stop her from trying.

“What?”

He opens one eye, a slit of beryl that casts the dimmest glow across his cheekbone. It’s a look that’s good for deterring people from doing things they shouldn’t. Like lying. He uses it on the kids sometimes, when they’re feeling brave enough to push it. It doesn’t work on her, though, so he closes it again and sighs and shifts around and resettles his shoulders to jostle her a bit, his backup non-verbal reprimand, and then pulls her snug against his side. She can’t help it -- she rolls her eyes.

“How do you do that?” she asks. “Mako-enhanced ears?”

His chest rises with a silent laugh, though his eyes stay closed. “Don’t need ‘em,” he says. “You’re thinking loud enough to wake up Denzel.” 

Denzel happens to be in the bedroom at the end of the hall, snoring and dead to the world, but she’s having trouble coming up with a counter argument. She gnaws on her lip as that guilt worms its way back in. Then he adds, softer, “I wouldn’t be sleeping here if it bothered me,” and warmth flickers to life inside her ribs and melts the guilt away. 

She knows that. Of course she knows that. She hasn’t doubted it in a long, long time. It’s just that the little reminders of his decision to stay, to be a part of this family, to  _ live _ , haven’t lost their impact. They always calm her mind. They always make her heart so full.

And just like he knows when she’s thinking too hard, he knows when something he says pleases her, too. He turns his head so that he can kiss her forehead, and the hand that had been resting on his stomach comes up to hold the one of hers tracing things into his skin. He brushes over her ring, gives it a twist like he’s making sure it’s still there, before lacing his fingers with hers. She watches them tangle and sighs. 

“Which was it?”

“Nibelheim,” she replies. Her fingertips dance over his knuckles without her realizing, some etude or variation she’d memorized as a child. It’s been 16 years, but the word ‘home’ still manages to stick on her tongue. It always tastes sour. She can’t tell anymore if it’s because of the pain or because of how foreign the concept of Nibelheim being home seems. It just does. She knows it happens to him, too. 

She considers elaborating. Early on, before they were even sharing a bed permanently, when one of them would wake shaking and sweating, they’d try all night to get back to sleep. Being in the same room, in the same bed and knowing the other was safe had been enough at first. Eventually they learned that the only real way to silence a ghost was to acknowledge it first, to say its name aloud. Talking about their nightmares then and there has given them more peaceful nights than she thought possible.

Ironically, though she’d been the one to first suggest it, he was the one that made it a habit.

She smiles a bit. The fact that he wants to talk about it, that he makes sure he’s awake to listen, no matter the time of night, even though he’s exhausted and has to leave early, even though she goes weeks now without bad dreams, months even -- does more to banish nightmares than talking ever could. 

“Is this real?” she whispers, more to herself than him, because in moments like these she still sometimes wonders. How is it possible that they’re here? 

He turns his head to look at her, and when she looks back his features are drawn, his mouth open like he’s about to ask what’s wrong. She shakes her head and burrows back into his chest. 

“What?” he asks, and his tone is somewhere between concern and confusion.

“Nothing. Just…” She chews on her lip a moment before pressing a kiss to the skin beneath her cheek. Just over his heart. 

“I love you,” she murmurs. They don’t say it often. Not explicitly. They’ve always been better at expressing it with their actions, through kind gestures and lingering gazes and soft smiles. They know that their hands speak more clearly than their mouths ever will. But sometimes they need the words, too. Sometimes touch isn’t enough to convey it all — the affection, the desire, the faith and trust and gratitude that their relationship is built on. Those three words used to be an ocean between them. Now they’re a hearth, familiar and warm. A constant they will always come home to.

His hand slides up her arm to cup her cheek, gently urging her to lift her head. Her eyes are only half-open when she does; his embrace and the beat of his heart has calmed her down and she can feel herself slipping towards sleep. She fights it long enough to respond when he kisses her, to press her mouth to his, to share a breath, to smile and hum when he tells her softly, “Only you, always.” 

* * *

She wakes to the smell of coffee and something burning. The bed is empty beside her. Shouts float up the stairs from the kitchen. Marlene is yelling at Denzel about ruining breakfast, and she hears Cloud’s muffled but firm command to quiet down. She starts to frown, remembering he was supposed to leave early, but the sun peaking through the curtains tells her he must have pushed back the delivery. Normally she’d be annoyed about sleeping in, but this morning she can’t seem to find it in herself to care.

She smiles and rolls over to her husband's side of the bed, curls around his pillow and breathes in the traces of him until she drifts back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual comments are always appreciated but never expected. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Much love to everyone,  
> Kota


End file.
